


Atonement

by brightclam



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Gen, I'm so pissed at the nolanverse i write a fic where dceu batman fixes it, Psychological Horror, don't read this if you like the nolanverse, just dont do it, no ships, or hate bvs batman, this is probs the most self indulgent fic i've written, this is shit is weird y'all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:08:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10466814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightclam/pseuds/brightclam
Summary: The dc universe has changed itself before; that's how Jason was originally brought back. When BVS Bruce regrets breaking his code and begins branding criminals, the universe knows the perfect way for him to atone: by fixing the mess that is the nolanverse. But it isn't going to be easy, or what would be the point?





	1. The visions

**Author's Note:**

> hah ha welcome to this clusterfuck. I hope you enjoy! I don't know when it'll update, since it's the mutant story I keep in the corner right now.
> 
> tw: canon typical violence and injuries, mentions of death and torture.

\--------

Bruce is exhausted; he’s been working for days, harder than he does usually. He’s been kicked around by both Superman and Doomsday in the past 24 hours and his body is one giant bruise. His mind isn’t doing much better, filled with staticky exhaustion.

 

Under the circumstances, perhaps he can be forgiven for not seeing the punch coming.

 

_ But, he is Batman, he has to see everything coming, or he’ll be useless or dead, buried in a grave next to jason’s empty one— _

 

Whatever his personal feelings on the matter, the punch lands. His determination, his rage, cannot change reality, no matter how much he tries.

 

It hits him squarely on the cheekbone, with no warning, sending him spinning backwards. He doesn’t fall, he never does, but he stumbles for a moment, too long.

 

His mind is a mess of screaming alarms, training and survival instincts sending adrenaline racing through his beaten body. But no second attack comes.

 

He blinks the exhaustion and sparking pain out of his eyes to see Dick shaking his hand out, knuckles red from the impact with Bruce’s cheek.

 

Bruce’s sleep deprived mind is relieved that it’s not one of his demonic rogues that’s invaded the lakehouse and attacked him, but at the same time, maybe this is worse.

 

Dick looks up, shaking his bangs out of his eyes, and glares at Bruce, eyes dark and expressive as ever. There’s a new scar on his forearm, bright white against his brown skin. It looks like a knife cut; he probably tried to stop a strike with his forearm, and the trust was powerful enough to drive the blade through his armor.

 

His mind is going down the detective rabbit hole, trying to procrastinate away the painful conversation he knows is coming. Unfortunately, Dick is not required to accommodate his avoidance and quickly launches into an angry rant:

 

“Branding people, Bruce?!? What the hell! I know this whole thing with red hood has hit you hard, and I know it’s been so long since we started this fight, but you can’t do that! After everything you taught me, all the years you fought with me to help people, after telling Jason he was wrong for killing people after he crawled out of his own goddamn grave, and you turn around and do this?!?”

 

The mention of Jason hurts like the bullet his second son had put in his gut a week ago.

 

Dick knows that; saying it must have hurt him as much as hearing it hurt Bruce. He’s carrying his guilt over Jason  and working himself to death, just like Bruce. Seeing his son’s shoulders stooped under grief and overwork burns like acid in Bruce’s throat.

 

And he’d only added to that burden when he started branding his enemies. The damage it’s done to Dick is obvious; Bruce might have well pressed that hot iron into Dick’s flesh, it would have hurt less.

 

The regret pooling inside of him tastes like the dirt thrown down onto superman’s coffin.

 

He manages to croak out a sentence, woefully inadequate for his beautiful son who he’s betrayed, for the hero who he’d killed.

 

“I’m...sorry.”

 

He hasn’t said those words in years. The joint of his jaw clicks as he does, a reminder that his body is slowly failing him.

 

_ Perhaps my mind is failing too. _

 

Despite the pathtetic inadequatecy of his words, something inside Dick’s face softens. Part of his burden is suddenly lifted, making him look less the scarred warrior of now and more like the cheerful child of the past. 

 

_ How could I not have noticed how much my words meant to him? Two little meaningless words and he’s happy. _

 

A wave of grief and regret hits Bruce, familiar from his nights mourning Jason.

 

_ I could have done so much better. He’s such a beautiful child, he deserved that. I should have spoken with him more, told him how much I love him. _

 

But too late for that now. The past is the past, and all he has to look forwards now is the future. His amends must be made to Dick now, not to a wishful past version of him.

 

Dick has swept forwards and pulled Bruce into a hug. His wounds protest, and the armour must be digging into Dick, but he doesn't pull away. Bruce wraps his arms around his son, a long forgotten movement. Dick melts into him and Bruce clings to him, tears burning at his eyes.

 

“Dick... Stay here. For a little while, surely Bludhaven will be safe for that long. Please, stay with me.”

 

Dick pulls away, eyes shining, and speaks in a choked voice:

 

“Of course, Bruce. Oracle is covering for me in Bludhaven, I can stay away for a couple days more.” 

 

Then, he grins and punches Bruce softly on the arm.

 

“Barbara's pissed you know, I fully expect here to come here and punch you herself as soon as she possibly can.”

 

Bruce smiles wanly. Once Dick had left him, Barbara had gotten more distant, but still stuck around. Having at least one of his children to talk to had helped him struggle out of the whirlpool of grief he’d been drowning in.

 

“She’s welcome anytime, she knows that.”

 

They're interrupted by Alfred’s sarcastic drawl:

 

“Now that the family drama is over, may I start treating your wounds, master Bruce?”

 

Dick smiles at Alfred and goes to hug him too. 

 

Bruce feels a smile twitching at the corner of his lips as Alfred and Dick chatter happily.

 

\-----------

 

After the armor is put away and his wounds cleaned, he sends Dick to bed.

 

His son laughs and reminds him:

 

“We're going to talk more about this in the morning.”

 

His blue eyes are dancing but his words are serious. Bruce nods solemnly; this is one consequence he can't avoid. 

 

After Dick has disappeared down the hall and Alfred has nodded goodnight, Bruce drags himself to his room. He collapses onto the bed and, for once, falls asleep without the help of the pills.

 

_ A man, not young, not old, handsome and black haired like most of his robins, slogs through a waterfall.  _

 

_ He stares up into a cave, bats swarming overhead, diffuse cave light shining on his face, turning him into the worn marble of a headstone.  _

 

_ A black pedestal rises like an eldritch monster come to whisper in their victim’s ear, play with mortal minds that aren’t prepared, destroy them with knowledge. _

 

_ A man in a straightjacket giggles, hair a dull once-dyed brown-green, twisting scars cutting his cheeks into an eternal smile. He grins at a dirty window, eyes tracking back and forth, and laughs a slow, deep, deliberate ho-ha-hee. _

 

_ A policeman stands in front of a statue, a caterpillar of a moustache on his lip and glasses on his nose. He stares at the statue's cowled face as if it can help him, but the bat-man glares forwards cold and uncaring. _

 

_ A second man in a straightjacket, quiet where the other was loud. His eyes glow blue as he stares,sightless and piercing at the same time. His full, pink lips work as he smiles, a smug, knowing grin. _

 

_ A bat-mobile tears around a corner, the young-old man behind the wheel, old-sure but young-weak—the green man dislocates his shoulders and tears out of the straight jacket, ha-ha-a-a-h a promise and a plan— _

 

_ The blue-eyes man sprays a white gas into a woman’s face, coos and twists as the lights flicker— _

 

_ (The bat-man is coming, coming, coming~) _

 

_ And Bruce is there, in a bright, gleaming bat-suit that’s all show, not the dependable gray mesh he made. _

 

_ He takes out the thugs, world blurring like the universe is fast forwarding. _

 

_ Then the blue-eyes, now gold-eyes, lunges and Bruce catches him, a rough hand in his hair pulling his head back, baring his neck. _

 

_ Bruce—Bruce—Bruce—sprays the gas into his face and he knows, it’s fear gas, a specially potent mixture, it’ll drive the victim insane if they aren’t treated in time.  _

 

_ He needs to get Crane the antidote. _

 

_ Instead, he clamps a hand around his jaw and squeezes. The man chokes and coos again, gentle voice against bruce’s rough interrogation—  _

 

_ (Dr. Crane isn’t here right now~)— _

 

_ The woman, she’d been sprayed first, she’ll need treatment first— _

 

_ He— _

_ Slams the unresisting, breathless blue-eyes into the metal ledge— _

 

_ He leaves blue-eyes-gold-eyes-pink-lips-scarecrow-crane on the floor.  _

 

_ Bruce—Bruce—Bruce leaves— _

 

_ Leaves— _

 

Bruce jerks awake in a cold sweat. The sheets are wrapped around his waist, feeling painfully constraining all of a sudden.

 

He scrambles out of bed, the deep  _ ho-ha  _ echoing in his head, pulsing to the beat of his racing heart.

 

_ Ho-ha _ .

 

He makes it to the bathroom.

 

_ Ho-ha. _

 

He tries to wash his face, but when he looks in the mirror, the blue-eyes of scare-crow stare at him.

 

_ Ho-ha. _

 

He vomits into the toilet, then washes his mouth out, resolutely not looking in the mirror.

 

_ Ho-ha. _

 

He hears a soft footstep behind him. For an instant, he sees the blue-eyes scare-crow, small body stuffed in a straight jacket, bare feet buried in the carpet. 

 

_ Ho-ha. _

 

There's a spidery burn on his cheek and his eyes are dull and lifeless.

 

_ Ho-ha. _

 

He opens his pink-lips and exhales a cloud of white fear gas. Bruce throws an arm over his face, trying not to breathe.

 

_ Ho-ha-ha! _

 

The green-brown man appears out of the smoke, scars glinting, fingers grasping for Bruce.

 

_ Ha! Ha! Ha! _

 

When his fingers claw at Bruce’s face, the dream returns.

 

— _the young-old-sure-weak-_ ** _son_** _steps out of the bat-mobile_ _and faces the green-brown-_ ** _Joker_** _._

 

_ He’s wearing the too-shiny-too-showy-too-heavy batsuit; it bows his shoulders and weighs him down. _

 

_ He's awkward in it, and not just because it's too heavy. As he steps towards the  _ **_Joker_ ** _ , Bruce can tell that he's untrained. _

 

_ The cape swirls around his feet, curling around his ankles like eldritch tentacles. The cape was obviously made for someone taller; it's so long that it's going to trip him up. _

 

_ Horror fills him as the  _ **_Robin_ ** _ approaches the  _ **_Joker_ ** _. He may have taken Dick and Jason out young but they were trained, he never left their sides! _

 

_ The  _ **_Joker_ ** _ gestures the  _ **_Robin_ ** _ forwards— _

 

Bruce is dragged out of the dream-hallucination when his head hits the bathroom tile. It hurts, but at least he's in the real world again.

 

He pushes himself up and runs for Dick’s room. The not-dick alone-son facing down a joker has unsettled him, dragging Jason’s ghost back into the light again.

 

_ He needs to know that Dick is safe. _

 

He runs down the hallway, bare feet slipping on the plush carpet. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the blue-eyes laughing.

 

( _ They don't give us shoes, here in Arkham. But of course, I'm the one who put that protocol into place, so I guess it's poetic justice.) _

 

He pushes the door open, running straight into the Joker. The man’s scarred mouth gapes, mid laugh. He sticks his tongue out and waggles a finger at bruce.

 

( _ You’re a little late, bats! Poor Robin isn’t in very good shape. _ ) 

 

Bruce pushes his way through the hallucination towards the bed. 

 

_ The body on it flickers, no longer Dick, but the young-old robin. His body is broken and bleeding. His eyes snap open and he howls, agonized and pleading. Ho-ha! Ho-ha! Ho-ha! cheers the Joker next to him. _

 

“Bruce?”

 

Bruce blinks and the screaming body changes back to Dick, sitting up and looking concerned. Dizzily, Bruce realizes he just barged into Dick’s room with no warning in the middle of the night.

 

His son is next to him now, putting an arm around him as he sways.

 

“Bruce?!? Are you okay?”

 

Bruce looks into his confused face, so kind, his son…

 

“I don’t know.”

 

\----------

 

He's sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of hot chocolate Dick made him in his hand, when another vision hits.

 

The mug shatters against his floor as his world is enveloped in white.

 

_ Hoofbeats-clack-clack-clack _

 

_ (Ho-ha-ho-ha-ho-ha) _

 

_ The horse rears, eyes shining red like an emergency exit sign, but there’s no way out of here— _

 

_ The horse rears, hooves thrashing, the blue-eyes man on its back driving it into a fury. _

 

_ (There’s nothing to fear~) _

 

_ Clack-clack-clack _

 

_ (But fear itself~) _

 

_ Clack-clack-clack _

 

_ (And I'm here to hel— _

 

_ Lighting lances out of the billowing clouds of white, striking the blue-eyes across the cheek, turning his jeering into cries of pain. _

 

_ Clack-clack-clack _

 

_ The horse gallops off, blue-eyes lying limp on its back, still crying: _

 

_ Aaa-aaa-aAAAA— _

 

“Bruce!”

 

There's a hand on his face, gently patting his cheekbone. Dick’s palm is covered in familiar callouses. Bruce blinks once, twice, and looks up at Dick. He tries to smile comfortingly.

 

“I'm okay, I'm back with you now.”

 

Dick does not look comforted. He looks concerned.

 

“This isn’t normal, Bruce. Did you fight Scarecrow recently or something? Could there be some sort of drug in your system?”

 

_ Clouds of white,echoing with the whooping of the blue-eyes and the terrfied screams of people in danger--- _

 

“No. Crane is still locked in Arkham, he hasn't broken out in weeks.”

 

( _ Have you ever tried to escape an Asylum barefoot? The tile is so slippery, and the orderlies have those nice rubber soles on their shoes. Even if you do make it outside, you’ll rip your feet up, be slower, maybe even leave a nice trail of blood for us to follow. Makes sense, doesn’t it? _ )

 

“I did fight an assassin with poisoned weapons a few days ago, but the toxin was meant to kill, not cause hallucinations, and I took the antidote as soon as I reached the batmobile.”

 

Dick shakes his head. 

 

“Something is wrong here, Bruce. I’m going to go get Alfred to check you over.”

 

Before Bruce can protest, he’s back in the too-shiny batsuit.

 

_ Police-man caterpillar-moustache stands in front of him, a gleam of hope in his eyes, so wrong to see on a gotham-policeman's face, much less Gordon’s.  _

 

_ Wrong-Gordon speaks, that familiar tone that he uses when passing information to Bruce. _

 

_ “We still haven't caught Crane or the asylum prisoners he released.” _

 

_ Bruce replies, white fog heavy in his head, glimmering bat-suit heavy on his shoulders. _

 

_ “We will.” _

 

When he comes out of it this time, Alfred is staring at him rather than Dick. Alfred snaps his fingers in front of Bruce's face.

 

“I can see perfectly well, Alfred.”

 

“Just checking the basics, Sir. But I think this is something more nefarious than a simple concussion. We should move to the batcave.”

 

Bruce lets Dick pull him out of the chair, leans on him as they open the clock and go down the staircase.

 

( _ Ooooo~ A hidden staircase, how cool, batsy! But last time I went to the batcave, it was behind a piano. And there was none of this staircase stuff, you had a mine elevator! You have to admit that's cooler than a staircase.) _

 

When they make it to the batcave, Bruce stumbles towards the case containing the batsuit. After seeing the strange, too-shiny batsuit, he needs to see his own, dependable batsuit.

 

It’s there, glowering at him like usual. He hits the button to open the case and begins pulling it on. Nightwing flutters nervously at his side.

 

“Bruce? What are you doing?”

 

“Dick. Suit up. Something is coming.”

 

Dick is already darting towards the table where his Nightwing suit lies. He begins pulling on his armor as well.

 

“What's coming, Bruce? How do you know?”

 

“I don't know. But I can feel it. We need to be ready.”

 

As he snaps on the cape and turns to Dick, who’s standing at attention, the world ripples again. He's gotten used to by now, but something is different this time.

 

Alfred and Dick flinch and look around wildly. 

 

“What's going on?!?”

 

“You can see it too?”

 

The world settles back into place, black and orange. They're in an alley, wet, dark concrete and one flickering streetlight. Dick and Alfred crane their necks to look at the buildings around them, at the smoggy sky above.

 

It feels like Gotham, but different. The air is tinged with a harsh, chemical scent, whereas their city always smells of smoke and gasoline.

 

Bruce only has eyes for one thing, though. There's a man standing at the end of the alley, under the streetlight. His eyes, pupils dilated until they're almost all black, glimmer with orange light. 

  
But still, Bruce can see the distinctive blue-eyes of the the scare-crow.


	2. The missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually gotten a skeleton of a plot written out for this now! But my life has gotten really busy, so updates will continue to be sparse.
> 
> More people are enjoying this than I thought would, but I'm glad because I love this story, so thank you for reading and subscribing!

\--------

Dick starts to walk forwards, towards the scare-crow. Bruce puts his arm out, stopping him.

 

“Put your filter mask on. That's the scarecrow.”

 

Nightwing pulls it on, but looks confused.

 

“Bruce, that’s not the scarecrow, he doesn't look anything like him!”

 

“Alfred, stay back. I don't want you getting hit with the gas.”

 

Alfred looks at him as if he's gone mad, but backs into the alleyway nonetheless.

 

“Bruce, I don't understand why you think that's scarecrow. He looks like just a normal person to me.”

 

“Well, let’s go talk to him and see.”

 

Bruce approaches him in slow, measured steps, Nightwing at his side. As they get closer, the scare-crow’s head turns to look at them.

 

He's wearing a suit, well pressed and with an elegant cut. He's holding a ordinary looking briefcase. There isn't any burlap on him, but Bruce knows that this scare-crow doesn't wear a full costume.

 

Bruce and Nightwing stop just out of his arm’s reach. The scare-crow sighs, an exasperated noise like a teacher faced with an unruly child, and pushes his glasses up.

 

“Have you come to take me back, bat-man?”

 

Dick jerks in recognition; the man's speech is slurred, eyes glazed: he's drugged. But the most telling thing is that he’s addressed batman as bat-man; a civilian wouldn't say it so calmly. He says it with a strange emphasis on the end of bat, splitting the name into two words.

 

“You can't be out, Crane. You know that.”

 

The man tilts his head, a languid, predatory movement.

 

“It's been a long time since I saw you. You left us. You left us with that whelp running around in your suit.”

 

He leans closer, suddenly aggressive. Despite his small size, he manages to loom.

 

“We weren't very happy about that. But he was especially upset.”

 

Nightwing interrupts:

 

“He?”

 

The scare-crow suddenly turns to look at Dick, his head snapping around with bird-like speed. His blue-eyes are big behind his glasses, too big for his face.

 

“He? Which other he is there? Joker, the drunk driver you left at the wheel.”

 

Bruce pulls himself up, making himself bigger, although he already dwarfs the scare-crow.

 

“What is he planning, Crane?”

 

The scare-crow smiles at him, condescending and self-satisfied.

 

“Plan? He barely had to plan. We went to the cave together, the whelp drove us right in. Didn't drug me enough, he should have known that I'm resistant after what you did to me. I watched, and watched, and watched, and then I drew Joker a map.”

 

It's a shame, really. The whelp hits so much softer than you did. But you left him here, untrained. What an insult! Joker doesn't let insults go lightly, and he’s willing to do anything to bring you back.

 

Although, since you're here, I guess he doesn't have to kill the kid anymore. But he will anyways. He enjoys that sort of thing.”

 

Bruce grits his teeth and tries not to think of Jason, bleeding and alone in that warehouse.

 

“That's enough, Crane. We're taking you in.”

 

Nightwing reaches for his arm. The calm man suddenly turns into a screeching, clawing animal. He dances away from Dick’s arm and swings the briefcase in a ponderous arc at Bruce’s head.

 

Bruce dodges easily, but the scare-crow presses a button on the briefcase and white gas spills out. Beyond the first, instinctive, kick of fear, Bruce ignores the gas; it can't affect them through the masks.

 

Dick is already tackling the scare-crow to the ground. Bruce takes the hissing briefcase and throws it away from them, conscious of Alfred huddled in the alley behind them.

 

The scare-crow screams, an angry, helpless noise. Dick grunts and rolls off of him.

 

Bruce quickly pins the scare-crow down, looking at Dick, sprawled out on the concrete, with concern.

 

“He stabbed me!”

 

Fortunately, It didn't get through his armor. 

 

Bruce kicks the wicked pocket knife out of Crane’s hand.

 

His rogues are inventive, and they will use any weapon they can get their hands on, but scarecrow has never liked knives. It's a harsh reminder that as familiar as these people seem, they are not the same as the ones he knows, and they will act differently.

 

Crane snarls and thrashes, the poise from before gone now. Bruce kicks him in the head, knocking him out. He lies limply on the wet concrete, suddenly small, a rag doll left out in the rain.

 

Nightwing stares up at Bruce for where he’s sitting on the sidewalk.

 

“Bruce? What the hell is going on here?”

 

Bruce grunts and he lifts Crane and throws him over his shoulder.

 

“I'm guessing an alternate universe.”

 

“You knew we were going to come here. You told me to suit up. You knew that was scarecrow before we talked to him.”

 

“The visions I was having? Showed me this world.”

 

“What are we going to do? Can we get back to our universe? Are we trapped here?”

 

“The first thing we need to do is get to Wayne manor. This city is dangerous, we need a safe place to collect ourselves.”

 

“We left the batmobile at home, or whatever transported us here did.”

 

“We’ll just have to grapple our way across the city. If you take Crane I'll carry Alfred.”

 

He holds out an arm to Alfred. The butler wraps his arm around his shoulders and holds tight.

 

“I've always wanted to be one of your blushing damsels in distress, Master Bruce.”

 

“Hold on, Alfred.”

 

He fires the grapple gun and pulls them out of the alley, alighting on the building overlooking it. Nightwing follows, landing much easier with his lighter, unconscious load.

 

They make their way across Gotham, slowly. The city is only becoming more and more unfamiliar. It's choked in smog, mist and gas hissing from buildings and sewers and clogging the streets. A giant, elevated train track curves through the city.

 

Out, across the water, instead of Metropolis, is an island. There’s a bridge connecting it to the mainland. The island in packed with buildings, as densely populated as the mainland, but with strange, swooping architecture.

 

They make their way to the outskirts, only stopping once to catch a robber. The land outside of the city is more familiar than the city itself: giant mansions, large stretches of undeveloped land. But there is one thing jarringly different: Wayne manor is intact.

 

He has to stop and stare for a moment. As many times as he’d visited the house in his universe, he’d only gone to his parents, never inside of the burnt out house where Jason took his last breaths. 

 

Being here feels like sacrilege, like walking over Jason’s grave.

 

_ The universe twists, considers that. It ripples, and somewhere, Jason Todd feels a chill. The mirror in his bathroom shimmers, and the blue-eyes stares out at him. It watches as he moves around the apartment, but doesn't strike yet. _

 

Bruce tries to ignore his skin crawling and grapples down to the lawn. He remembers the old-young-robin making his way into the cave. There was a waterfall; so he needs to find a body of water.

 

Nightwing and Alfred don't ask questions, just trail behind him as he begins to circle the mansion. They're creeping through the gardens, overgrown with weeds, when Bruce sees the boarded over well.

 

_ Falling, into the home of the bats. He stares at them, into the heart of the cave. They rush at him and he braces for them to hurt him. Instead, they fly past him, simply fleeing and not attacking. _

 

_ They were just scared, like him. _

 

He points the well out to Dick.

 

“The cave must be under the grounds or the house.”

 

_ What had the Joker said? The entrance was behind a piano. _

 

“It's in the house.”

 

“How do you know? Another vision?”

 

Bruce nods.

 

“We’ll have to break in.”

 

Nightwing grins at him.

 

“Breaking into your own house. How exciting! Never mind a fifth grader, are you smarter than yourself?”

 

They creep across the yard, staying out of the security camera’s view. Once they make it to the window, Bruce quickly rewires the alarm and pops open the glass.

 

They slip into the house, Dick helping Alfred over the window sill. Once inside, he wrinkles his nose.

 

“Ugh. Are you this bad at decorating or is it just your alternate?”

 

Bruce sighs and ignores his son’s snark, making his way through the house, looking for a piano. Once he finds it, he does a quick scan of the keys. 

 

Undoubtedly, it's got a combination of keystroke that acts as a code. Those keys will have more oil and other debris on them, since they're being used more. The scan gives him the combination and he keys it in, the notes ringing throughout the empty house.

 

The piano and the bookshelf it’s embedded in slide open smoothly. They step through the secret door and find themselves staring into the metal mesh of a mine elevator.

 

Bruce hesitates but Dick skips into it, grinning at the metal cage around him.

 

“This is so cool! Bruce, this would be so nice to have in our batcave. That way when you're injured it's easier to get back up into the lake house.”

 

Bruce eyes the rickety elevator with distrust, but steps in to join Dick, Alfred trailing after him. It's a tight fit, but they manage to fit all three men in the small space. 

 

The elevator jerks suddenly and begins to drop. Bruce, too proud to shriek in surprise, snaps his jaw shut and accidentally bites his tongue. Dick cheers as the elevator rattles downwards. 

 

Finally, the elevator sets down. Dick pulls open the door and steps out into the cave. It's how Bruce remembers it; tall rock ceiling, waterfall on one side filling the space with rippling light. The pedestal is still standing in the middle, but this time its door is gaping open. The too-shiny batsuit lays half in and half out of it, collapsed on the floor like the empty shell of a long dead bug.

 

Bruce steps over to it and picks the trailing cape up off of the ground. Even though this world’s Robin is untrained, he wouldn't have left his suit like this. Something must have distracted him…

 

“Bruce.”

 

There's dread in Dick’s voice, cold like the spray from the waterfall that's trickling down Bruce's armor. 

 

Nightwing is standing next to a bank of computers. On the surface is a smear of blood. Wires spark where the screen has been cracked, a blade buried deep in the computer. Tied around the blade’s handle is a purple ribbon, with a piece of folded paper attached.

 

Bruce walks over, nightmarish dread dragging him down, slowing his steps, as if he's walking through molasses. He reaches out to the paper, far too delicate to be such an evil thing. His fingers tremble as he unfolds it.

 

In harsh, blocky writing that's almost ripped the paper, as if the joker was digging the pencil into the page, is a word. 

  
_ Come. _


	3. the enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: there's a lot of description of wounds in this. No gore, but it's still pretty bloody.
> 
> I do have this entire story planned out, it's just taking me a while to write it out. Sorry, and thanks for sticking around!

\-----

Underneath the command, in tiny letters, is an address. Bruce rushes over to the console and plugs it into the computer, pulling up a map of the city. Alfred has already settled into one of the chairs, pulling out the dusty, unused comm system. With only Robin in the cave, alone, there would be no need for comms. Dick paces, light in his feet, ready to leap into action as soon as they know where they're going.

 

Finally, the computer beeps and gives him directions to the location. It's a warehouse and packing factory that was shut down a few days ago. The perfect place for the Joker to hide. Dick has already zeroed in the noise and is standing behind Bruce, leaning over his shoulder to look at the screen.

 

“Well? Let's get going, Bruce!”

 

“There's one thing we have to take care of first. We need to get scare-crow back to Arkham.”

 

Dick turns back to the unconscious man slumped against the console, wrists handcuffed behind his back. He shivers involuntarily at the sight of a scare-crow that is so clearly not theirs.

 

“Yeah, that would be a good idea. He's pretty vicious.”

 

Bruce stands up, body thrumming with tension. The visions of Robin helpless at the Joker’s mercy scream in his head, begging him to rush to his aid, but he knows he needs to take care of scare-crow first.

 

But he remembers Jason. He had rushed to him as soon as he could and still been too late. He can't let that happen again.

 

“Dick, take one of the cars and get scare-crow to arkham. I'm going after Robin.”

 

Dick hesitates, and Bruce understands. He wouldn't let Dick face down the Joker alone and he knows Dick doesn’t want to let him go alone either. He takes a step forwards and gently lays a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

 

“It's going to be okay.”

 

The lie rolls off his tongue like syrup, as light and fake as styrofoam. He doesn't know that it's going to be okay. Fighting the Joker is dangerous at the best of times but in this strange world it's even worse. He’s asking Dick to do what’s necessary for the greater good and abandon him. In his loyal, loving son, that request claws at him, makes it hard for Dick to accept.

 

But, finally, Dick nods. The movement bows his heads and his shoulders slump, as if the difficulty of the decision is physically weighing him down. But he does it, he turns to scare-crow and picks him up, carrying him over to one of the bikes parked in the cave. As he swings his leg over it he kicks up a cloud of dust, swirling around him and the scare-crow, uncomfortably similar to the white gas of the visions.

 

He pauses, perched atop the bike with his signature grace, and looks back at Bruce. There’s a mixture of regret and determination on his face, undercut by a well hidden layer of pure fear. He hesitates a moment, and then speaks, softly enough it’s almost lost amongst the rushing of water and squeaking of bats.

 

“See you soon, Bruce.”

 

It’s both a promise and a threat: If Bruce doesn’t live through the upcoming fight, Dick will personally grab his departing soul and shove it back into his body.

 

Bruce can’t speak through the knot in his throat, so he just nods goodbye. Dick gives him a smile so bright it’s like the sun has broken into the cave and kicks the bike into action. Its engine sputters for a moment, its insides as dusty as its outside. Then it roars, filling the cave with overlapping echoes. Dick speeds out of the batcave, whooping as he goes through the waterfall.

 

Bruce shakes his head, already imagining how the scare-crow will react when he wakes up being dragged through the city at high speeds, soaking wet. He turns back to the computer and begins plotting a course through the unfamiliar city to the Joker’s hideout. Alfred hands him a comm, clicking it on and making sure it’s connected to the headset he’s wearing. Once he’s satisfied that it’s working, he steps away and takes a seat at one of the consoles behind Bruce.

 

Route planned, Bruce stands up and heads to the batmobile waiting next to the row of consoles. Alfred shouts after him as he climbs in:

 

“I gave master Dick a comm before he left as well, sir. If you need help call him or me.”

 

Maybe, Dick would be able to reach him in time if something went wrong. They’re all aware that this world is strange and wrong and dangerous, and this Joker might just be too much for Bruce to handle. If that’s true, Dick might not make it in time and Alfred won’t be able to help and Bruce might die in that warehouse. He tries not to think about how terribly similar that scenario is to Jason’s death.

 

Bruce hopes this Joker will be easily defeated and soon forgotten, but he doesn’t think that’ll happen. He sends the batmobile squealing down the rain-slick streets faster than he should, trying to knock the feeling of foreboding out of his mind. The grimy buildings of this Gotham blur more than those in his Gotham, the gas clouds hanging over the city masking its appearance even before speed begins to muddy it. 

 

The streets are almost entirely empty, of both pedestrians and cars. It’s eerie, even if it is convenient, letting him tear through the streets with impunity. It’s as if the inhabitants of this Gotham are too afraid to go out at night.

 

He reaches the warehouse and parks the batmobile, missing the clean feeling of speed already. It’s not quite raining out, more of a fine drizzle, hanging in the hazy hair and beading on the batsuit’s mesh. It reminds him of the time he chased Poison Ivy into the rainforests of washington state. The ground was sludge and it rained all the time, but was freezing cold as well. If he hadn’t stayed in the batsuit, he’s sure his toes would have frozen off.

 

Somehow, this Gotham is even more miserable than the one he calls his home.

 

He makes a quick circuit around the warehouse, but he can’t see anything through the windows. He does a scan, searching for body heat, but something is interfering. There’s blobs of heat everywhere, that could be people or could be some sort of machinery. Essentially, he’s blind.

 

He squares his shoulders, shakes the water off his cape, and prepares to go in. He’s faced traps like this before, he tells himself. A traitorous part of his mind whispers: not like this. 

 

The door doesn’t creak open, it slides smoothly, kicking up a cloud of sawdust. As he saw through the windows, the bottom floor is empty of people. Boxes adorn the room; he flips on the heat vision and sees that most of the heat signatures are coming from inside them. The boxes are too small to contain people; there must be heat emitters set up to confuse his heat vision.

 

The emptiness disturbs him; it’s too clean. Joker likes to fill his hideouts with toys and tricks: bombs inside presents, teeth clattering across the floor, or at least some purple bows on the walls. For the warehouse to be so lifeless is so out of character that Bruce almost doubts that it was Joker who took Robin.

 

Then he takes a step forwards and the floorboard under his foot clicks. He throws himself to the side as soon as he hears the click, and just in time too. A small bomb, hidden under the loose floorboard, goes off with a bang. The ball of fire explodes outwards, then fades, except for some flames dancing along the wooden floor, turning the sawdust into piles of ash. Bruce tries to get up, which he manages, and move forward, which he doesn’t. He steps on another loose floorboard right away, and another bomb goes off, almost taking off his foot. 

 

The entire floor is a minefield, and even the parts without bombs are starting to catch fire. Soon enough, the entire floor will go up in fire and the room will become filled with smoke, making it impossible for either the Joker or Batman to remain inside.

 

Bruce frowns; this is wrong. Joker likes to toy with his prey, especially when he’s hunting Batman. This trap is far too cold blooded, made to destroy him quickly instead of slowly.

 

He’s torn out of his musing when a voice croaks from the shadows of the ceiling.

 

“Ah, Batsy. You really shouldn’t have done that, this smoke is terrible for our lungs.”

 

Bruce had made a rookie mistake; he had scanned the main room, but gotten too distracted by the booby trapped floor to check the ceiling. There’s a whole extra level, nestled in the triangular space of the roof. It’s floor is made up of interlocking support beams which are open to the main room, allowing the smoke to rise and congregate in the upper level.

 

The Joker stands on one of the beams, ragged in a way his Joker never is. He wears a dark purple trench coat, with a dull green vest underneath. His seaweed green hair has large splotches of brown showing at the roots. His makeup is smudged, as if someone had waterboarded him after he put it on. He’s a mess, and the wrongness of it is jarring.

 

The Joker strides along the beam, seemingly unaware of how easy it would be to knock him off with a batarang. He stops quickly, and reaches out to flick something, setting it swinging. It’s a chain, and Bruce follows it to where it meets up with all the other chains strung across the space. It’s like a metal spider’s web, and in the middle is a massive cocoon, Robin’s head poking out from the top. He’s gagged and bloody, his eyes shut with exhaustion and his face lined with pain.

 

“I strung one chain for all the times you ignored me, Batsy.”

 

There are a lot of chains.

 

“I’m afraid Robin won’t be able to enjoy his spectacular hammock for long. It’s getting quite smokey up here!”

 

The cocoon shakes slightly as Robin coughs, the gasping for air visible through the fabric of the gag. Bruce quickly grapples away from the floor bombs and into the rafters, landing heavily on the metal beams. He growls:

 

“I’m equipped to fight up here, Joker. You’re not.”

 

The Joker laughs, the deep, fake ho-ha that’s more words than laughter. It grates on his nerves, the noise reminding him of the supervillains back home who try too hard to “act” evil.

 

“I’m sure you could take me down, Batsy. But I think you’ll find freeing Robin will take some time, and the fire is rising fast!”

 

Bruce snarls at him, but it’s false bravado. He’ll always choose saving Robin over capturing Joker. So he turns back to the mass of chains. As he does, the Joker sneers behind him:

 

“Make sure to take the gag off!”

 

Bruce does, wanting to hear Robin’s voice. As he pulls the fabric away, Robin flinches and opens his eyes.

 

“Batman?”

 

He sound reverent, as if he’s never been able to say that name before, as if he’s not used to having Bruce around. Bruce swallows; if Batman hasn’t been around for years, and if the Robin doesn’t have any training, them maybe he hasn’t actually met Batman before. The thought sets off an ache in Bruce’s chest, and a burning anger that his alternate self could leave Robin like this.

 

“Yes, Robin. I’ll get you out.”

 

He reaches for one of the chains, the cutter already out of his belt.

 

“Wait—”

 

The cutter jerks the chain as it cuts through and Robin breaks off with an agonized scream. Bruce tears it away as quickly as he can, hoping that will stop his pain. His scream trails off and he pants for breath in the smoke filled air.

 

“What happened?”

 

He coughs, struggles to reply, his forehead beaded with sweat.

 

“The bastard put barbed wire on the inside. Extreme enough movements...”

 

Bruce swallows, horror trickling into him, and Robin meets his eyes.

 

“There’s nothing you can do about it, Batman. Cutting the chains will hurt me, but you’ve got to get me out of here. I just wanted to warn you first.”

 

Bruce grits his teeth, but he knows Robin is right. So he starts cutting again, trying to work as fast as possible. Robin screams and screams, the sounds getting rougher and rougher as he breathes in more smoke. In the short reprieves between cuts, he tries to quiet himself but only manages to cut the screams down to pitiful whimpers. He’s tearing his lip to pieces, trying to hold in the noises.

 

Bruce knows the Joker did this, he’s responsible, but he can’t ignore that he’s the one actively causing his son this pain. He’s sure that’s what the Joker was trying to make him feel. But still, he’s the one drawing every scream out of him, he’s the one pushing the barbs deeper into his flesh, he’s the one doing so in silence like an executioner. But he can’t find any words of comfort, and his throat is too tight to speak anyways.

 

Finally, there’s only one chain left, and Robin is falling vertically, the short chain pulling him to a stop before he hits the fire. Bruce shoots his grapple into the cocoon and then cuts the last chain. He drags him back up onto the beam and then grapples their way out a window on the roof, struggling to carry the weight of Robin and the chains.

 

Nightwing arrives as he’s cutting Robin out of the cocoon. He speeds to a stop and rushes to their side, lugging a large bag of medical supplies he didn’t have before. He shoves it towards Bruce and quips:

 

“With Alfred’s compliments.”

 

Robin smiles weakly and whispers through his wrecked throat:

 

“Who’s this?”

 

Bruce gives him a sad smile; there's none of the usual territorial jockeying that his robins have when meeting each other for the first time, only honest curiosity.

 

“This is Nightwing. He's a vigilante as well trained as I am; I trust him wholeheartedly.”

 

“It's nice to meet you, Nightwing. cool name."

 

The chains are starting to reveal the body underneath.  He’s wearing only the soft undersuit, as if the Joker grabbed him as he was putting his batsuit on. The grey material is splotched with red and crisscrossed with thin black lines. As they pull the last chain away, they can see thin cuts in the grey fabric, filled in with the black of barbed wire and the angry red of torn flesh.

 

Bruce dumps the chains to the side and surveys the damage, trying to find a way to remove the wire without hurting Robin more. The wire is already pulled tight, barbs embedded in his flesh.

 

Bruce begins digging through the medical kit Nightwing brought.

 

“Did Alfred pack any painkiller?”

 

Nightwing nods and pulls out a vial and a syringe, sticking the needle through the plastic top and into the liquid inside. Robin perks up and for a moment Bruce is worried he’s afraid of needles. 

 

“Is Alfred back from Europe?”

 

Bruce stares down at Robin, wondering why the hell this world’s Alfred would be in Europe rather than in the cave, helping the Robin this world’s Batman had apparently abandoned.

 

“We’ll explain when we get back to the cave.”

 

Robin smiles at him and nods, ignoring the needle Nightwing is slipping into his arm. Once he’s found a vein and pushed the painkiller into his system, Dick comes over to Bruce and whispers:

 

“That was a lot of morphine, he shouldn’t be feeling much of anything soon. I’ll remove the wire if you clean the wounds.”

 

Bruce throat is tight with regret and pride; Dick has become such a kind, confident young man. He couldn’t ask for a better son.

 

They wait a few minutes, until Robin tells them the pain is lessening. Then they kneel by his side, tweezers and threaded needle in hand, and get to work. Robin still hisses and twitches in pain as they work, but at least he’s not screaming. It’s delicate work, and takes forever, but eventually they remove all the wire and cover all the wounds.

 

Robin’s practically naked by then, the undersuit ripped to shreds. Bruce carefully detatches the cape from his suit and helps him wrap it around himself. Bruce tries not to notice the way he grips it as if it was the most precious thing he’s ever been given. Once he’s covered, Nightwing ducks under his other arm and they begin limping back to the batmobile. 

 

Bruce curses when he sees the only extra seats are in the back. What Batman doesn’t have a place for rescues? What if they’re panicked or drugged, they need someone to keep them calm, and that can’t be done if they’re separated from you. He’s not going to leave Robin in the back where he can’t see or talk to him.

 

Nightwing notices his dilemma and begins strapping himself into the seat next to Robin.

 

“Don’t worry, Bruce. I’ll stay with him, the bike can wait here a little while.”

 

Robin jumps at the use of Batman’s first name and echoes in a whisper:

 

“Bruce...”

 

Batman returns to the front seat and drives to the batcave as quickly as he can without throwing his injured passenger around. His mind races, trying to process this world and figure out how to explain what’s happened to Robin.

 

Given Robin’s inexperience, he’s probably never dealt with alternate universe before. This is going to be...interesting.

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a disclaimer, I don't know anything about morphine or how it works/.


	4. the Bat-man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy it's been a while since I updated this, sorry
> 
> If you haven't noticed yet, nolanverse characters are differentiated by dashes in their names. So Batman is BVS batman, while bat-man is nolanverse batman. The same for cat-woman and scare-crow, etc.

\-----

The universe decides it’s time and focuses in on Jason’s apartment. The mirror in the bathroom cracks, light spilling out of the fissure. The universe waits patiently for it’s prey to come to it. Jason, alerted by the noise, gets up from the couch he was sleeping on and stalks towards the bathroom. He grabs one of the many guns from the table and loads it as he approaches the source of the sound. When he peeks around the corner he’s scanning for threats and ready to shoot. But there’s nothing to fight and he curses.

 

“What the fuck is this?”

 

He doesn’t intend to get any closer; now is the time to strike.

 

The blue eyes appears in the shattered mirror, reflection split and mangled by the cracks. Jason jumps at the sight of the vaguely human shaped apparition and turns to run. The world spins and he’s gone, leaving the apartment empty.

 

He takes the universe jump quite well, holstering his gun and staring up at the unfamiliar buildings around him. He sees the signs emblazoned with Gotham and sighs:

 

“Not this alternate universe bullshit again.”

 

Movement across the street draws his attention and he watches as a man in ratty clown makeup leads a posse of thugs into the abandoned building. Just barely, Jason can hear one of them call the clown Joker.

 

He pulls his pistol back out and begins slinking towards the building, a wolf-sly smile on his face.

 

“Maybe this won’t be so bad.”

 

\------

 

Next to a plush armchair, the TV clicks on. It spills LED light across the room, illuminating most of the shadows. Selina hums from her perch on the bathroom counter.

 

“You know you won’t get to sleep with that thing on. It’s practically a spotlight.”

 

Bruce grunts, focused on flipping to the news channel.

 

“This is important.”

 

She sighs and hops off, padding over in her sock feet to join him in the bed. She doesn’t look at the screen, distracted by fluffing up her pillow, until she hears the signature roar of the batmobile’s engine. The noise is tinny, a pale shadow of it’s real earth shattering roar, but still unmistakable. Her head snaps up and she searches the screen, eyes stopping on the giant headline that reads:

 

BATMAN RETURNS TO GOTHAM!

 

Shaky cell phone footage captures the batmobile tearing through the streets, and then switches to a costumed man riding the batbike.

 

Selina gasps and snarls:

 

“That’s my bike!”

 

She can almost hear Bruce’s teeth grinding and he turns to look at her, rage growing in his eyes.

 

“Pack your things. We’re leaving.”

 

\------

 

Robin blinks into the light Alfred’s shining in his eyes.

 

“So you’re not my Bat-man, you’re from an alternate universe?”

 

Bruce nods and Dick adds a cheerful “yeah” from the table he’s perched on.

 

Robin looks astonished for a moment, but it quickly changes to sadness.

 

“I guess I should have known, I wouldn’t have gotten lucky enough to have my Bat-man come back.”

 

Bruce is glad he’s accepting the strange truth, but wishes he wasn’t doing it so self deprecatingly. He’s about to tell Robin it’s not his fault his Bat-man left him when someone leaps out of the shadows of the cave, landing across the parking pad from them.

 

She’s dressed in leather, and cat ears grace her head, but otherwise she’s completely wrong. Her hair is long, brown and straight, flowing free in a way that surely disadvantages her in a fight. They all jolt upright at the sight of an intruder and Bruce curses internally. He should have know someone else would have the codes to the batcave and would come for them. The question is, is this cat-woman a rogue or part of the family?

 

Dick moves quickly, launching himself off the table and flipping over to her. He maintains enough distance not to be in reach, but is close enough to be threatening. Bruce stays back, watching carefully, aware that there might be others. Alfred comes up behind him, placing himself protectively in front of Robin and cocking his gun. 

 

Dick looks the Cat-woman over, taking in the impractical heels, and sneers:

 

“Are you supposed to be Catwoman?”

 

The woman snarls back:

 

“That’s my name, and that’s my bike you’ve stolen, boy.”

 

Before they can come to blows, someone else comes swooping out of the darkness. It’s the Bat-man, dressed in his bug-shelled batsuit.

 

“Careful Selina, they outnumber us.”

 

There’s a huff behind them and Robin struggles to his feet, storming towards the bat-man.

 

“You don’t even recognize me, do you?”

 

The Bat-man looks him over, taking in the wounds impassively, and mutters:

 

“Blake.”

 

Robin laughs, a bitter, aching noise, and returns to the protective fold of Alfred and Bruce.

 

“My name is Robin now,  but you can call me Batman.”

 

Bruce steps forwards, too angry to be silent any longer. Dick grins, recognizing his look and settling in for the fireworks.

 

“How dare you leave your son alone? Look what the Joker did to him!”

 

The bat-man smirks, clean shaven and perfectly white-toothed underneath the mask.

 

“My son? He’s my replacement.”

 

Bruce and Dick wince at the word, having heard Jason scream it at them a few days earlier.

 

(How could you replace me, Bruce?)

 

The Bat-man continues, stepping towards Bruce and pointing an accusing finger at him.

 

“And don’t you lecture me like you’re my father. Although you look old enough to be.”

 

Selina snickers.

 

“It’s amazing he can even move in that armor. Do you need a cane? A walker maybe?”

 

Dick snarls at her and settles into a fighting stance. She mirrors him, getting ready to fight. The Bat-man stalks over, until he’s almost face to face with Bruce.

 

“I don’t care who you are or what you think of me, you’ve stolen my equipment and pretended to be me. You’re going to pay for that.”

 

Bruce gives up on talking and prepares to beat himself into the ground.

 

\-----

**Author's Note:**

> the google doc where i'm keeping this story is titled "fuck nolanverse batman"


End file.
